Somewhere in a Somersault
by Satirise
Summary: Our characters are shaped by those we hate, as much as by those we love. James and Lily were each other’s creations, and they only had each other to blame for that fact.


**First posted: **July 30, 2005  
**Revised: **October 30, 2005  
**A/N: **all further chapters and Harry Potter stories will be posted at Unknowable Room (link to site is in my profile) under this penname.

**- Prologue: Somewhere In A Somersault -**

People are people through other people; we constantly seek confirmation of our own existence by how we relate to others  
BRYCE COURTENAY

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There comes a time in life when you stop and ask yourself, _what the hell am I doing?_

It can happen in the most unfortunate places under the most bizarre circumstances. Perhaps you were at the grocery store making a difficult decision (spinach or sprouts?). Perhaps you were hurrying to work and in your haste, walked into the wrong office. Maybe you were getting ready for school, knotting your tie and lacing your shoes only to realise it was the weekend. Train stations and bus terminals the world over play host to these soul-searching sessions, as did lamp-lit streets, country pubs and public libraries. Beaches, town parks and sprawling fields weren't exempt either. The point is, you could be anywhere and then it strikes.

The great question of _why_.

You'd be hard pressed to find someone who, at the end of their life, could honestly tell you that they never doubted themselves for one second; they never questioned what their purpose was and if they were doing the 'right' thing – whatever that may be. People who never wonder why they were given a shot at life are either arrogant to the stresses of mere mortals or are extremely forgetful; _did you ever stop and just ask yourself? Ask myself what? Why you're here, why you're living. Oh, that – mate, I honestly can't remember … maybe I did. _

This thought may be fleeting. It may only rear its ugly head once every blue moon to plant the seed of doubt – but what if a forest had eventuated from that single, seemingly insignificant seed? Psychiatrists would classify these people as being fearful for their own wellbeing. If that's the case, then Lily Evans was a prime candidate for paranoia and should have had her head read the moment she received her first Hogwarts letter.

From that one letter, followed by several more letters – each increasing in their insistence for Lily's enrolment – the Great Question often popped in to her head, causing her thoughts to run around in crazy circles like a dog after its tail. Fuel was added to the fire whenever she remembered her family's reactions to the news of Hogwarts.

Mr Evans had become somewhat reclusive, preferring not to give his opinion until he'd received a response from Professor McGonagall. _We just don't have enough to go on, Joy. I don't care if the bloody Queen thinks this is a good idea – my daughter isn't going anywhere until we know what's going on! Petunia's right – this could all be a joke! I don't know who would do it, but _someone _could. Not everyone is sold on your dogma._

Mrs Evans, quite typically, had acted in sharp contrast to her husband. While Mr Evans had remained sceptical, Mrs Evans was willing to believe that Hogwarts existed and that Professor McGonagall was Lily's Fairy Godmother. _Imagine the life Lily will lead! She'll see so many wonderful things – she could do something extraordinary with her life! If only Petunia had the same opportunity. Of course, don't be silly – who wouldn't want to go? I wish I could. No, Robert, I don't think I'm getting Lily's hopes up. Don't be ridiculous, it has nothing to do with my 'dogma', whatever that means. What about Petunia? She'll be fine, she's just going through a stage, she'll grow out of it. _

Petunia believed that she wasn't going through any sort of 'stage', and pretended that nothing had happened and that Hogwarts was but a tall story. When Professor McGonagall answered Mr Evans' letter and it became clear that Hogwarts did in fact exist, Petunia changed tactics and decided to milk the situation for all it was worth. _Dad, I need some money. I don't care about pocket money – if Lily's going to get all that spent on some stick of bloody wood then I should get some too. Not a wand, money! 'Bloody' isn't a swear word, and I'm fourteen – I can swear if I want. On clothes and stuff, you know. I can't go out looking like this – it's embarrassing! What would you know, Mum? You walk around in a shower curtain. I swear I'll never forget this; I hate you Lily! _

Petunia's words forever lingered in the back of Lily's mind; just when she thought she'd forgotten them, something would happen to bring the memory roaring back to life. She had been scarred, and while scars may heal, they don't disappear. More conversations of the sort ensued, but Lily refused to believe Petunia – she was wrong; there wasn't anything wrong with being a witch! She wasn't evil, she wasn't the Wicked Witch of the West – she was more like the Good Witch of the North, all glittery and golden.

Sometimes Lily wondered what her life would have been like had she turned down her place at Hogwarts. The term 'Muggle' would have been gobbledegook to her, not the language spoken by goblins. She would have gone to the same school as Petunia; she would have learnt the same lessons with the same teachers. She would have made friends with entirely different people. Would Petunia have liked her then? She liked to think so, but, as it was, she hadn't turned down Hogwarts' offer. She'd boarded the Hogwarts Express from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and entered a world her mother could only dream of.

Her first letter home had been stored away in a special place by Mrs Evans, only to be brought out when Mother Hen felt her nest deserted. The childish innocence and enthusiasm seeped into Mrs Evans and gave her a burst of energy – it was impossible not to be drawn into Lily's world of flying carpets and magical merry-go-rounds, where teachers were cats and portraits talked back.

Lily loved her new home, but she was still plagued by the Great Question. She didn't know what to think of her life – on one hand, she was successful in her studies and well on the way to being an accomplished witch; on the other hand, she was a Muggle-born, born into a different world and, therefore, a foreigner, an intruder.

She thought that maybe she was just between the two worlds – not yet ready for one but too far removed from the other to rejoin it. Sometimes she felt as though a great war was raging in her – her family or her friends, her old life or the life she'd fashioned for herself. One or the other; she couldn't have both. Trying to do so only served to confuse her more.

Her friends knew of her paranoia and the uncertainty it created in general. Some thought it was an overreaction; some even sympathised, but most didn't understand. _Don't you think this whole 'meaning of life, who am I?' thing's a bit dramatic? I mean we probably all do it, but with her it's like she only remembers it every now and then anyway. She can't be that worried about it, I reckon. Oh, trust you to sympathise, Stella. No, of course you're not sympathising, you're just defending her insanity. Don't 'but Mandy' me, Yanie – you don't understand it either. Well if you're so well informed on what caused it, why don't you fill us in, Anna? C'mon – you're the best friend. We're all interested now. I don't care – start at the beginning, go back to conception if you must. I was joking, don't flip out. We just want to know what the big deal is. Right then, this should be interesting._


End file.
